“It doesn’t matter how early I start, or how late I stay, you’re still going to beat me,” he says. No sooner do I pull out my boot and a kind-looking middle-aged woman leaves the grocery store and throws in a toonie. Cole rolls his eyes playfully. “See? It’s already started. It’s those damn dimples, gets the ladies every time.” I flash him a smile, making my dimples pop and putting them on show. “Shit, you look like Bradley fucking Cooper, I swear.” He laughs.
I shake my head with a smirk. I’ve heard that comparison a million times. That, or a blond Mario Lopez because my face is more boyish than Bradley’s. But today, I’m going to use my dimples to my advantage.
The morning slips into early afternoon, and both of our boxes are almost overflowing with everything from cans of soup to kids’ cereal to diapers and formula. My heart squeezes for a moment, thinking about the families who will receive the items.
The town of Heartwood takes care of their own, and seeing the donations at the annual firefighters’ boot drive is always a heartwarming display of generosity. I love this town, and I love my job because we get to give back to the community.
That’s what matters at the end of the day. But a close second for things that matter to me is beating Cole.
He’s disappeared inside the store to buy us a couple of water bottles, and I use the opportunity to peek in his boot. He’s ahead of me by a smidge, but I only have another hour here before I have to get going.
It’s time. Time to pull out the big guns.
My strategy has never been done before in the history of the boot drive competition, but it’s worth the risk. I ditch my turnout coat—it’s stifling in the heat of the noon sun anyway, and I’m sweating through my snug grey T-shirt. Just as I planned.
As Cole walks out of the automatic sliding doors, I peel my T-shirt off over my head, leaving me shirtless in my turnout pants, my red suspenders hanging around my hips. I look down at my tanned chest, my skin glistening with theright sheen of sweat. The expression on his face when he sees me is priceless. Shock, and awe, and defeat.
“What the hell, dude! I thought we agreed to keep it PG.” He groans.
“You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.” I smirk and grab my suspenders, stretching them and letting them snap back on my shoulders. I reach for the water bottle he reluctantly hands me, opening the cap to pour the cool liquid down my face, and shaking my hair like Ruby does when she gets wet.
Is it overkill? Maybe. But as anticipated, onlookers on the sidewalk have stopped to stare, and it’s drawn enough attention to me that I might win this thing. It’s not exploiting your body if it’s for charity, right?
I flash Cole another one of my dimpled smiles as a small crowd of people have formed around my outstretched boot, rooting around in their wallets for change.
My attire, or lack of it, has caused a stir because not only have I received a few more donations, but Alma Rose has emerged from her antique shop and is wandering down the street, cane in hand, beelining at a slow but steady pace straight towards me.
“Look at these handsome young men out here fundraising for such a worthy cause,” she croons as she nears us. The lines on her wrinkled face deepen when she smiles. “Heart stoppers, both of you.”
“Not to worry, Alma, we’re also trained in CPR,” Cole jokes. But Alma has stopped in front of me and is digging around in her purse for what I discover is not a donation, but a small piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.
“Hudson,” she starts, her hand shaking slightly from ageas she holds it out towards me, “my granddaughter, Emma, is going to be moving back to town soon to help me with the store. Pretty young thing. Blonde, sweet, bangin’ bod. I want her to feel welcome and have some contacts when she arrives, and I immediately thought of you. You have such a warm and inviting nature about you. You’re charming.” Her eyes flick across my bare chest, and linger a little longer than comfortable on my abs. I’m starting to question my decision to do this. “And single,” she adds with a wink.
I take the phone number from her and pocket it, remembering the conversation I had with Jett this morning, and weighing the opportunity in front of me. On the one hand, this is might be what I need—it would certainly get Jett off my back for a while. On the other … I’ve been closed off from the idea of dating for so long now, I don’t know where I’d start.
At this point, as a twenty-eight-year-old guy, I’m set in my ways. I’ve lived on my own for a long time, and I like things the way they are. I like my job, and I like going home to my Ruby-girl, to peace and quiet. Why shake things up now?
“Thanks, Alma. She sounds like a great girl,” I say, and she does, I just have no real intention of following through. But I try to appease her by saying, “I’ll get in touch.”
“I hope you do. How are your brothers these days?” she asks, reaching out a shaky hand to grasp my forearm, her eyes earnestly scanning my face. My gaze flicks over to Cole, who has now had multiple people stop and drop money into his boot while I’ve been monopolized by Alma. I might have lost my lead.
“They’re fine,” I answer curtly, glancing over the top of her head to catch more people lining up to give Cole their money. I’m officially fucked. I’m the one who drew the attention with my washboard abs, and now Cole is reaping the rewards. Awesome.
Alma stretches her free arm up, the other supporting her on her cane, and she gently pinches my cheek.
“You boys are all so sweet. Your mama raised you right, God rest her soul. I’ve heard you’ll be working on the new arts centre. Your mother would have loved that. She would be so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Alma. I appreciate it,” I say past a small but present lump in my throat.
“You know, I think about her all the time,” Alma continues. “She used to love coming into the store. We used to chat while she browsed the antiques.”
I absentmindedly nod and offer her a simple smile in return to not drag out this conversation any longer. Yes, I have an important meeting to discuss the new arts centre, and yes, it certainly means a lot to me, but I also have an important fundraiser to win.
Alma is still reminiscing when I glance over her head, this time my eye catches on a woman across the street. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t be sure at this distance, and I can’t see her face. Her head is down, checking her phone.
The dark chestnut hair, the way she’s leaning on one leg with her hip popped.
When she finally looks up, I see the olive skinof her cheek, the thick lashes framing dark eyes I’d be willing to bet have flecks that glow amber in the sun.
